He's Late
by dragonwriter1911o1
Summary: America is late to a meeting, so its up to the rest of the nations to drag him back. But in New York, is it really so easy to find one blonde American? Follow the nations as they tackle the Big Apple, angry boyfriends, Starbucks, locals, and fellow otakus
1. Chapter 1

This was a quick one shot about a head canon I found and loved. Or, at least it was supposed to be a one shot. Of course, I got carried away and now its going to be a full-fledged story. These will be rapidly released since I originally wrote it like one gigantic one shot.

So, here it is.

* * *

Someone once asked me,

"Why do you love music so much?"

I replied,

"Because it's the only that stays when everything and everyone is gone."

~Unknown

* * *

It had been a long day. _Was_ a long day.

Considering how he had stayed up all night, the day really had been more than just a few hours.

Definitely not his best idea.

America was fidgeting in his seat, the amount of caffeine he had to drink to not fall asleep was enough to kill a man. It wasn't an understatement to say that he should be bouncing off the walls instead of just tapping his foot. He sighed, slumping back as he continued his rapid tapping. The world meeting was as bland as ever, Austria was giving a presentation on the decline of quality music in countries. Not so discreetly glancing at America every so often. What did he do?

What did his people do?

Wasn't it always this way though? America had long since gotten used to words thrown at him.

Might as well catch them with a smile.

Most noticed how France murmured the word "punk" and "dubstep" to England, who looked about ready to blow a fuse as France grinned smugly. Someone cleared their throat, gaining the attention of all but the one needed. America was looking out the window, head on his hands in thought,

 _Could animals ever learn to sing? I mean, there was the that piano cat and-_

" _Ahem_ ," this brought America back, looking at the strict blonde who had spoke.

"Yo dude, watcha' need? Cough drop?" Completely oblivious to the frustrated atmosphere, America looked to Germany, who in turn rubbed his temples.

"America, if you v'ould be so kind, please pay attention. We do not have time for z'is!" A couple countries snorted, looking back to the noted Austrian.

"Yes, you should take notes America! I have heard some of your "pop" music and it is absolutely atrocious," America leaned back. Sure he agreed, but with bad ones there were also good mixed in.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry man! Didn't mean to drift, won't happen again," he gave a bright smile, calming his ever building irritation. After a couple more, not so friendly glances, Austria continued to speak. Not listening, America looked to the window, an odd glint flashing in his eyes. He zoned out again, still tapping a steady rhythm out with his foot, starting to hum along with the beat. The presentation, thankfully, was over before he was caught.

"Everybody, it is time for lunch. Please stay in z'e vicinity and be back in no later than an hour. Dismissed!" The nations slowly stood up, gathering in groups before heading out.

"Ve~, Germany, can we go get-a pasta? Or maybe we can-a try some German? What do you think?" The blonde glanced to his Italian friend, nodding in tune to the words.

"I see no problem. V'hat about you Japan?" Japan nodded, the trio heading out. He was followed by England and France, arguing about how English food was good or complete rubbish. Although they fought, they still headed out together, a quiet Canadian following close behind and smiling at their antics. America was left alone in the room after Greece left, putting his notes together in a neat pile before grabbing his conference was in cloudy New York, on a horrible day with the streets packed with cars and pedestrians.

America enjoyed the day though, stepping out to the block and down to a Chinese restaurant around the corner. Sure America liked McDonald's, most Americans did, but he did eat at other places. He knew all the food joints to visit in a town in his country, all those off the charts family-owned ones that just made the best stuff. This one was no exception.

The sound of sizzling food and the aroma of too many spices to tell wafted through the air. America took a deep breath, soaking it all in. His lunch was spent in peace, if you didn't count the many regulars that knew him and the owner coming out to greet him. Mr. Chang, the owner and a absolutely fantastic cook, never seemed to stop when he started talking. Even going into Chinese at some points. Most of the other nations would be shocked to know someone that talks more than America, and that the American knew Chinese. The homey, asian themed restaurant somehow managed to cheer him up, distracting him from just about everything related to the meeting. The chats with Mr. Chang and his customers always did that, make him forget his worries.

 _These were his people._

Lately, the nations had really been harping on his people. Their customs, their attitudes, their inventions, their art. He could't quite put two and two together lately with the others, just what was their problem? Deciding that this was a dangerous topic, he finished his food and took the bill with a laugh from the waiter.

Walking out, the blonde's smile was contagious. It was just so annoyingly happy you couldn't help but smile yourself. It infected the people he passed, too blinded by his optimism to care. Or maybe it was because he was America. Alfred never could tell.

Soon, he heard music, deep and slow, being plucked on a guitar. Drawing him in. He rounded a corner for the sound, closing his eyes to take it in. The low notes were drawn out, the high sharp and soft, both combining into something... America didn't bother trying to explain it. Too lost in the music, he missed how he started to hum, missed as he got captured by the soulful tune. His eyes flew open, frowning as it ended.

Noticing the player, he couldn't help but just madly grin. Pulling out his wallet, he grabbed out a bill or two, throwing it into the open guitar case at the boy's feet. The musician looked almost flushed as America turned to him. His mouth opened, then closed in thought. The nation didn't think much of it, turning around to go back to the meeting, even if he would rather spend all day listening to the musician.

"H-hey!" America spun around eyes wide as the musician called him. He pointed to himself to make sure he was even talking to him. The nod confirmed it. Before he could ask why, he stopped and got his answer. "I, uh, heard you singing. Humming really, and it, uh, sounded...pretty? Whatever. What I'm trying to say is, would you sing? Please? I'm not one for it, but I think it'd be fun to you too, 'cause I like guitar and you sing-whoops, hum, and i just," the Nation's eyes grew wider, mouth bobbing up and down. Finally, after many unbearable seconds, he gave a lighthearted laugh at the awkwardness of the invitation and replied.

"Yes, yes! I'd love to. Really," he shook his head until the boy laughed in return, holding out his hand to shake.

"The names Louis, Jared Louis," he looked at America, his grin hard to contain.

"Alfred F. Jones at your service."


	2. Chapter 2

Music has healing power

It has the ability to take people out of themselves for a few hours

~Elton John

* * *

"What the bloody hell is taking that git so long!" America was late by over two hours.

Two. hours.

Almost all the countries couldn't help but nod in agreement. Germany had a vein popping out of his head, hands clenched. Not even Italy stood near him.

"O-Kay z'en. Now, did anyv'one see or go v'i'z America at lunch or around z'at time?" Silence was the only answer. He cleared his throat before speaking again. "Did anyv'one see America leave?" Again, silence. Germany looked down and brought a hand to his forehead. "Did anyv'one even talk to him?" He said, a little desperate at this point. There was a glance away, a nervous laugh, a pair of furrowed brows. No one knew. "Fine! Let us split up and look then-"

"Why don't we just continue the meeting?"

"Why don't I punch that face of yours comrade?" Immediately, Russia gave a innocent smile at the crowd, not sure who had talked. Too wrapped up in fear of Russia, no one saw the hockey stick out. Or the the many pairs of furious eyes.

"I say, let's get going then," England clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. A hand clamped onto his shoulder and he screeched. All eyes turned to him.

"I, uh, you-Canada, lad, you scared me!" he ushered the Canadian quickly out of the room to avoid the stares. A few countries snickered. They slipped into groups to start the search, the axis powers together, England, France and Canada in a group, China with Russia and his sisters. The rest left for last minute flights booked weeks ago or urgent business. Or others were just annoyed with the hosting country not being there. The groups got together quickly and out they went.

Jared couldn't say the last time he had had this much fun. Even when he was playing guitar. He strummed three quick chords as the boy he had met-Albert, Alfred was his name-put him back to back and sang a couple notes. A crowd had gathered, more than he had ever seen, that's for sure. Alex-no, Alfred-just drew people in like that. He could have had the worst voice ever, and Jared had heard some pretty dang awful voices, and still gain a crowd. So with a voice as good as any out there, he gained an arena of people.

To explain his singing voice, which could only be described as ridiculously good or ridiculously odd, he would have to say it was one of a kind. Or maybe, a bunch of kinds. It somehow changed between verses, mashing into an odd mix of rock and country and pop and soul. It was like the best singers-all in one. And the way he played with the crowd, jumping into it, leaning into girls and boys alike, dancing with children, even Jared, timid and awkward as he was, couldn't help but let loose. It was astounding the coordination between them too, like they were made for each other.

But if anyone asked Jared, he would say Alfred would be able to blend like that with anyone. They performed together, leaning forward and backward with the beat, dancing around with the other, putting on a fantastic show.

He would make a killing tonight.

Canada was leading their trio, consisting of him, France and England. He went out with his brother often enough to know the usual hangouts, not that anyone would know that. Or remember him long enough to ask. Still, he knew America had some special places he didn't know about. Things he kept to himself. So he could never be too sure on where he went. His brother could be unpredictable. More than his disappearance, or really absence since he didn't bother to show up, he was more shocked by the countries. To say he was shocked when everyone volunteered to search for his brother wasn't even close though.

The other countries, although having a friendly relationship, could be... harsh. It was a shaky bond between business partners more than friendship, or at least that's what it seemed like. Even England, who Canada knew cared about America more than he would ever admit in his lifetime, crossed the line all too often. Not that he usually didn't deserve it, but sometimes it was just hard to watch. America seemed to laugh at the snide comments by now, brush them off as if they meant nothing.

But, sometimes when it's just the two brothers together, he can see the way it wears him down.

Why would the countries do that? Canada himself asked the same question over and over. He always arrived at the same answer. He knew it was his people-not the brashness, the stupidity or the rudeness-it was the absolute brilliance, utter craziness of the people that made them like that. America emwas/em the first to land a man on the moon.

America seemed oblivious to it, but really, how could he not see what was in front of him? There was just something to America, even if he didn't know what. God, he was overthinking his brother. The lovable idiot he was.

Now, where would that lovable idiot go to? He would most likely take a scenic route, the one near the shop windows... Canada knew just where to go. He tapped France's shoulder, because England didn't care for having his shoulder tapped and could be downright sassy, and let him turn before speaking.

" _Excusez-moi,_ France," he waited a second before adding the -is. Human names in public.

" _Oui_ , Matthieu?"

"Please follow me, eh?" Both nodded in turn and followed Canada-

before they forgot about him.

* * *

 _Excusez-moi_ (French) _-_ Excuse me

 _Oui_ (French)- Yes


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks so much for all the support! There's been only positive comments, which is amazing to a writer. I'll try to update this story as fast as I can since it's pretty much already written, so hold on as these beginning chapters help to get the story running.

* * *

People are like music

Some speak the truth

While others are just noise

~Unknown

* * *

Belarus couldn't help but worry about her brother and all the traffic and noise in New York. But right now wasn't the time, she was looking for America. She had been with him a couple times in the "Big Apple" as he called it. That had ended with them getting almost banned from a pretty high-end restaurant because of too many prank calls.

It was fantastic.

She always had fun with America, _had_. Ever since he had let her stay at his house. Not that she would say it out loud, but he was like a brother. Or maybe a friend, because there were no similarities between her brother and him. But then he had pushed her away.

Just like her brother. So maybe they weren't so different.

The house and it's ghosts were as obnoxious as it's owner, so she seldom visited. Roaming the streets with her siblings, she put a finger to her chin in thought, pondering the same question as every other nation right now. Where could he be?

 _Hmm...maybe the park?_

She knew he always liked going outside, always liked to watch his people. Most countries enjoyed this activity, it wasn't creepy or odd, it was something that all of them did to feel heavy weight of being a nation lighten. Especially in New York i't wasn't hard to do, it seemed every American had some sort of loud personality that just screamed look at me. A brightness that she couldn't see in anyone but an American. Beaming in confidence at her final conclusion, she signaled to her siblings.

" _Starejsaja siastra i brat_ , I believe I know where he is," she latched onto Russia's arm, gripping in tightly in affection. "Let us go," Russia gave a sideways glance at his big sister.

It was filled with fear.

"Ve~ _fratello_! Let's look over here!" Northern Italy dragged his annoyed southern neighbor to a food truck on the other side of the busy road, miraculously not getting hit. It was for Latino, with large purple lettering and a line circling the corner.

"V'ait Italy! Do not run across z'e road...," Germany slapped a hand to his forehead, he had given up trying to stop Italy, even if he did get hit. New York was an easy place to get hit in, with all the cars and people in it. There was too many for comfort if he had a say. Someone patted Germany's back reassuringly.

"It's okay _amigo_ , Romano never listens to me," Spain gave a proud, reassuring smile, as to why Germany had no clue. Since Japan had only been to the gaming shops and the like in this city, their group had been left to wander around aimlessly. Which pretty much just ended up with Italy going sightseeing and Japan sneaking in time for all of his shops.

Not only that, they had somehow or other run into Romano and Spain, off looking on their own together. Italy had insisted on going together, and so here they were. Germany, who had given up on the Italian, figuring with the Italian drivers being worse than the Americans he would be fine, turned to ask Japan where they even were. He turned just in time to see him walk into a store covered by a dull awning, and disappear out of sight.

In response to that, Germany clenched his teeth and Spain a content sigh. "So, since our _grupo_ has left us, how about we go and sightsee on our own?" Spain pulled Germany through the crowd, ignoring the glare from the German and the honking of traffic.

China had never really known the young country called America. More like he just annoyed him. A lot. He was so young, and just so immature. There were those times though, where he seemed different. More mature, wise-but those times were rare. China stopped to look around, admiring the scenery of the park in autumn. Even if it was a dreary, cloud-filled day.

The colors all gave a feeling of warmth while the wind bit at their ears. The reds, oranges, and yellows blended into a symphony of bight color, making the search seem bearable, almost enjoyable.

Somehow, he had been placed with Russia and his sisters. The one obsessed with her brother and the other with the large... well you know. He couldn't tell if being in their group bothered him or not. Nonetheless, it seemed his younger sister, Belarus, knew where to go. She had lead them to three parks by now, all as colorful and crowded as the last, only stopping when a carriage hit her brother.

It was horse-drawn, the kind as romantic as it was expensive in fall. The animals reared up, horrified when their faces landed into the nation with a thud, unable to knock him over. The driver had ridden as fast as he could out of there after seeing Belarus start to pull out knives.

At first the Asian nation had been confused as to why McDonald's hadn't been the first place they checked, earning some not too polite comments in what seemed to be some kind of Russian from Belarus. Why parks had been chosen over the restaurant he didn't know, still didn't. He followed along all the same, even he if knew the young country had more mysteries than could be said, unsure. The country was full of outrageousness, impossibilities, the representation of the nation being the same as it's inhabitants. It seemed America could do anything at times, so he stopped trying to expect anything normal out of either.

* * *

 _Starejsaja siastra i brat_ (Belarusian)- Big sister and brother

 _Fratello_ (Italian)- Brother

 _Amigo_ (Spanish)- Friend

 _Grupo_ (Spanish)- Group


	4. Chapter 4

Hakuna matata

It means no worries

For the rest of your days

~The Lion King

* * *

Canada pulled back France, grabbing his collar before the woman smacked him.

"Eyes off, frenchie!" the woman stalked away, fuming. Canada took his hand away and backed up, separating himself from the man. He loved his big brother, but he'd rather not be called a pervert as well. They had been walking for awhile, a long while, and had gotten lost because of England too many times to count after he said he could navigate his old colony, maybe not quite a half an hour ago.

In that hour however, not only had France flirted the whole way, and actually quite politely at that, but England complained about every single thing.

It's too noisy, bloody Americans and their loud voices.

Why is everyone so obsessed with their tablets? And what the hell is a poke-whatever?

The comments went on. Canada was in the mind to smack him. America was not made to annoy you! After sending a quick heated glare, and making sure to say sorry about it in his mind, the trio headed into a more crowded area.

Instead of shops, the majority of the buildings ahead were restaurants. An Italian restaurant surrounded by bricks, a red awning above. Beside that, a classic bar with dingier bricks, bright neon signs, and posters crowding the walls; even outside the restaurant. Designer clothing stores, boutiques and cafes were squished into the in-betweens of the narrow street. Canada thought the place was vaguely familiar, but couldn't quite tell. France and England's bickering voices blended into the crowd as Canada tuned out, ignoring everyone, trying to sort through his mind and figure out why this ordinary and undistinguished street seemed to hold a place in his memory..

"-Oof!"

Suddenly, his head connected with another, knocking him back and into France. After stumbling a bit, the Canadian gained back his footing. He had just run into an intimidating looking brunette. The boy looked a few years out of college, stringy brown hair almost long enough to touch his coat. He looked even mouse-ish with his large pink nose and squinty eyes. Beside the worn rain jacket he was wearing, was a now spilled bag. The contents, takeout from an annoyingly American Chinese eatery, all over the ground. Angrily turning to Canada, who shrunk back a little in guilt, he gave a growl.

"What the hell man! Watch the fuck out," he turned away to look at the mess beside his feet." Ah, what happened to my-my food! God damn it, there goes today's special," starting to gather it up, the food, he suddenly noticed the whole trio. "Hey! Dudes! You're paying for another meal, ya' know," he spat out venomously.

 _Maple_. Why were Alfred's people so frank. England clenched his teeth and leaned closer to him, he stuck a finger to his chest and looked up.

"And what, in the name of the bloody queen, makes you think we're going ta' pay for an arse like you? _Boy_." His green eyes were dangerously stormy, and gave the brunette quite a fright even though the Brit only came up to his chin.

"Why I oughta'-" before the two could start a fight, France stepped in.

" _Oui_! No problem _toi gras_ _cretin_ ," smiling sickeningly sweetly, he grabbed the man by the shoulders. "Now, please lead our little entourage to this... establishment," a side look to the food. Canada held in his laughter as they started walking to the restaurant, it seemed the American didn't know French. France knowingly glanced back and winked. England understood well that they had just avoided a troublesome situation, but he was still a little indignant at the fact he was pushed aside. In awkward silence, the now group of four started down the road.

Now this was how you spent a day.

Alfred started clapping to the beat, leading the crowd to do it in sync with him. His lips constantly moved, the lyrics flowing naturally in a strong and proud manner. Thinking back, he couldn't actually remember ever being this at ease, or having this much fun. Meetings were not only dull, but constantly draining. Though it really didn't like it, he listened, took notes, formed plans. Most of the times he wasn't at meetings or out in large cities, he worked. Paperwork, more planning.

Boring, boring, and _boring_.

Lately sneaking off was harder to do, along with annoying the other countries. But-

Shit, he had gotten distracted again. Not was rare time where he could enjoy himself. He let himself sink back into the melody. Jared was a talented guy. Each song he played seemed perfect in it's own way. The best ones were the sings he didn't actually have music for, the ones the crowd suggested. Those made for some interesting covers. When would this end? He avoided the question and nodded to Jared, giving him the signal to prepare for a new song.

Forgetting his duties; for at least the moment.

"This really is good!"

Romano sat next to his chirpy brother on a bench in who knows where. Somehow, after running to the food truck, serving some German street food, they had been deserted by the other members of the group. The stupid tomato bastard and the potato bastard had left them. He barely saw them make their way through the crowd before they had disappeared. Japan, he had no clue about.

At least he got to spend time with his brother, or at least it wasn't the potato bastard. Spending time with his brother was hard though, because he irritated the hell out of him. It was "Come on Romano, over here!" or "Let's-a go see those pretty ladies!".

How could he be so positive? They were lost and alone in one of America's fucking odd cities. With no money.

At the moment, somehow Feliciano had managed to convince some women to let them join in at a cafe. The coffee was actually decent, but he had realized these women were annoying as hell. Their only good points were their looks, and even those seemed lacking in Romano's eyes. Feliciano was chatting up a storm though, how, Romano had no idea. Taking a bite of one of the many sweets he had ordered, including some terrible ass biscottis, he turned to Romano.

"What do you-a think Lovi?" smiling brightly he asked.

 _Oh shit, what'd he say?_

"I mean I like-a the cream, but the texture is a little off, so I don't-a know," he seemed frustrated and looked down at the cake he had taken a bite of. Yellow and spongey with light pink frosting and strawberries. The two women smiled as he spoke, leaning to each other and whispering. Romano really didn't like them.

"I don't know _idiota_. Maybe you should have-a brought the German _bastardo_ ," the two blondes sitting across from them looked stunned. The left one whispered harshly to the other, afterwords taking a deep breath. This was the first time he had spoken the whole time, and he wasn't one for sweet words.

"But do you have any opinion though?" Italy frowned and then smiled nervously, knowing where this was going, but was ignored as his brother replied.

"About-a their fake hair and clothes? I say that blonde is-a way too platinum to look close to real. And don't get me started on those knock-offs-" Romano was cut off as hot tea started down over his hair and onto his face. The left girl was not standing and looking quite red and steaming herself. At the action, he turned red also, more out of anger.

"What did you-a do that for?!"

"Maybe because you insulted me, asshole!" Italy and the other blonde looked worried. Though her friend still looked mad in addition.

"I'm so sorry _bella_ _ragazza_! My brother can be a little dishonest with himself-" With no emotion, Romano spoke.

"I meant every word."

"Lovi!" The girl lunged over the small table, knocking cups and staining her pink blouse. Her earrings flew about as she struggled and clawed for the Italian. He jerked back in fright as she started swearing off the walls. One earring fell out and onto the floor, not that she noticed. Italy did, picking the silver teardrop up and admiring the red jewel in the center. The blonde, the one who wasn't trying to choke Romano and holding her friend back, put her hand over her mouth and pointed to Italy.

Confused and cocking his head Italy stood up. The woman choking Romano paused looked between her friend and Italy before covering her ear. Now she went for Italy.

"Fucking thief! Give it back! That was from my boyfriend!" Still holding the earring, Italy, confused and scared, started running away. Very fast. Romano cussed and went after him, noting the girls and many others tapping their phones as they watched in horror. This was no good. God damn Feliciano and his habit of looking for girls.

Well, at least they were pretty.

* * *

 _Oui_ (French)- Yes

 _Toi gras cretin_ (French)- You fat dumbass

 _Idiota_ (Italian)- Idiot

 _Bastardo_ (Italian)- Bastard

 _Bella Ragazza_ (Italian)- Beautiful girl


	5. Chapter 5

Music is a world in itself

with a language we all understand

~Stevie Wonder

* * *

Belarus was still scouring the parks when she heard the smack. It had come from China, who had previously been admiring (not stalking) a girl with a Hello Kittle purse. He had called it "limited edition", but she really hadn't been listening. Loosening her grip on her precious brothers arm, China still had his hand on his forehead from when he smacked it.

 _Why was he doing that?_

"I am sick and tired of you sitting all damn time! What the hell aru," Belarus clenched her fists as she saw Ukraine waving her hands in front of her apologetically.

"Very sorry, Mr. China. I do not mean to be slow, but my back hurts, you see. Because of my-"

"That is enough sestra, let us all get along, da?" Russia grinned at China, sending shivers down his spine and giving him a terrible premonition of what was to come if he complained more.

"Sure, sure. No problem aru," under his breath he added "ass". Russia's smile widened.

"What did you say comrade?"

"Nothing!" even though, under his breath he still added "ass" again. Breaking free of Belarus, who had been too preoccupied with thinking of skewering techniques for China, Russia put his arm around the older country. Looking down at him, a purple sort of aura seemed to come off him in waves. The Chinese man turned pale and struggled to back away as he was still in the Russian's grasp. Ukraine quickly stood up, the front of her white dress shirt bouncing.

"It is okay little brother, please leave Mr. China alone," Russia glanced at his sister, then to China, and gave the expression that a child would have when asking for a new toy and being denied. He reluctantly let go of his grip, Belarus, seeing the chance, took it, latching on yet again. Her brother in turn tensed and turned as pale as China.

"Let us continue," she turned back to China scrunching up her face and hissing at him. He scrambled back in fear, putting his hands out in front of himself. The Asian county started to stand behind Ukraine, looking quite fearful of the brother and sister duo up ahead. Russia also turned back as they started to walk and smiled innocently. With that, China fainted, hitting the concrete with a satisfying thud.

"Oh no! Mr. China is injured, let me help," Ukraine bent down, but then fell herself. Belarus and Russia shook their heads. Simultaneously, their heads whipped around as laughter filled their ears.

"Y'all are a funny bunch, aren't ya'?" The boy talking to them was tall and reeked of sweat. His tank top had low swinging arm holes, letting his toned arms shine. The black-or maybe very dark brown-haired boy looked to be in college and gave a cocky smile at the pair of confused siblings. He paused a button on his phone, taking out one of the earbuds, and walked over.

Bending down and holding out a hand to Ukraine, he spoke again with his southern accent. "Who're you and the Asian on the floor?" Pointing to the unconscious China, the guy tugged up Ukraine, pulling her to her feet. Belarus found her voice first, she had visited America's country too many times to be annoyed at the sudden intrusion.

Though she was still annoyed.

"The irritating Asian is Yao and the clumsy woman is my _siastra_ , Katyusha," stiffly, she continued. "And here is my wonderful big brother Ivan," she tightened her group, making Russia's face tighten as well and arm start to go purple. This just made the brunette laugh even louder and more obnoxiously.

"You don't say! Wonderful brother? With the way you are holdin' him, I'd say he was your boyfriend in some deep trouble." Belarus brightened.

"Boyfriend?" She looked affectionately at Russia, who's face started to morph into many different emotions before settling of terrified. He tried to break into he conversation.

"I'm sorry, I'm not her-"

"I just love him too much, see? We will be getting married soon."

"What?!" After Belarus said that with a deadpan expression, China had recovered and was pointing.

"I do not know these asses!" He started pacing back and forth, talking about how immature and weird Russia and his sisters were. The booming laugh sounded on time.

Hands now on his hips, he lifted up his sunglasses and held out his hand, "Name's Steve, ya' hear? Nice ta' meet ya' fella's," Belarus smiled, platinum blonde hair falling as she held onto Russia and leaned to shake it.

She liked this boy more and more.

Japan didn't like how his personal space kept being invaded as he shifted around in the small store, but it was well worth it he knew. He had been waiting weeks for an exclusive copy of one of America's newest video games. It had been bought out, on back order, and finally discontinued because of a bug before being re-released, so he hadn't even had a chance to try to buy a copy.

No one could get in his way now, especially since the exclusive copy had more than a few language options; including Japanese. He couldn't imagine anyone other than America including so many options. Really, it was almost scary in convenience stores with the variety of something so simple like cereal. Sometimes, most times, it was overwhelming.

Japan didn't feel guilty for leaving the group, the game held more priority of course. Looking at the rows of colored cases, he tried to find the one he had spied through the window, which was the only reason he was in the store at all.

"Ah," he reached for the last copy, determined to get the gore covered case immediately and then play it with America. He had been waiting for Japan to get the game to play it, and was almost at his limit himself because of the stalling. Just as he got a hold of the plastic case, his hand was bumped out of the way. Another arm quickly pulled back as they realized they weren't the only one going for it.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't see you going for that," a girl, shouldering a bag whose strap was covered in various pins, hurriedly said. Japan blushed a little, noting she kept apologizing and was drawing attention.

"No prob'rem, do you r'ike this game as we'r?" He pointed to it and looked at her. She had stopped apologizing, but looked a little taken aback at his words.

"Are you kidding me! This game comes in 7 languages, and even changes the story line depending on which one you choose!" She started ranting on, occasionally tucking in her red hair behind her thick black glasses. Japan started to be a little sorry he had asked, with how long her talk about the game was going on. Half of the time she seemed to be speaking a different language as well.

He was inching towards grabbing the game, determined, while she went on. Now with the package in his hand, he needed to wrap this up and get back to the group. He wasn't that irresponsible as to leave the group and not come back. "So you're buying it?" Startled that she had stopped, Japan jumped a bit.

"Ah, yes," after thinking about how excited she was, Japan shook his head. Grimacing, he held it out. "Did you want this?" Smirking, she struck a pose.

"Nah, this was actually for my friend you know," the Asians mouth went wide. "Instead how about I show you how to play?" He sensed this girl wanted more than to just show him, but tried to ignore his flushing cheeks.

"We'r I actua'ry have to meet some friends," the girl looked disappointed and adjusted her bag over her t-shirt in embarrassment. Seeing her so disheartened, Japan felt a little guilty. "I wouldn't mind ta'rking unti'r then though." The girl visibly beamed, recovering quickly, dragging him towards the counter.

"So, what language are you going to start in?"

Japan was surprised at how fast her mood changed, but followed nonetheless.

"I was thinking Eng'rish, but maybe Japanese," she looked suspiciously satisfied at the answer, making the country confused.

"So that's where you're from, I knew the accent was from somewhere over there." After paying, a ding echoed through the store. She gave a glance to the clack before heading out. "Hey, do you wanna' check out these cool street musicians? My friends waiting for me, actually for a while. But we can still talk along the way," thinking it a good idea and having a feeling it was fate, they walked out the store and down the street. Not stopping as they discussed very last detail of the storyline.

* * *

 _Siastra_ (Belarusian)- Sister


	6. Chapter 6

I had so much fun writing this. I think this chapter may actually be one of my favorites written in this story. Hasn't everyone wanted to know how the countries would react to Starbucks?

* * *

Behind every favorite song

There is an untold story

~Unknown

* * *

"Starbucks?" Germany said gruffly. Spain had been dragging him all over since he couldn't take Romano. Even without Romano being there, Spain was as chipper as ever, talking about how great the Italian brothers were; even including the forgotten Seborga. The brunette had dragged him every which way, loving to chat and peek into all of the shops. Eventually they had ended up here at this so called 'Starbucks'. On previous accounts, Germany had heard America mention the place, so it must be an... _interesting_ place.

"Come on _mi amigo_ , let's go see what this is all about," they pushed their way through the crowded streets, under the green canopy, then through the door. Personally, the two of them were surprised at the sheer number of people and teens shoved into the space. Voices shouting odd names and people shoved into every possible place seemed to make up the shop. Getting to the end of the line after a rude encounter with a girl dressed in all blue saying snobbishly how inferior her friend's purse was, the two joined the crowd. Feeling out of place in the middle of three teen girls, Germany shifted his weight between both feet. The Spaniard was happily unaware of his awkwardness and listened excitedly to what the girls ahead were saying.

"Good lord Carey, did you hear what happened to Ally?" She didn't look up from her typing as she motioned to her head, making circles with her finger. "Some jackasses led them on and then ran off with that really expensive earring her boyfriend gave her." The second, shorter girl pursed her lips.

"They led her on? If her boyfriend wasn't rich she would sleep with even more than she already does."

"Whatever, at least it's not our problem," stunned at the girls conversation, the two foreigners stepped away form the girls, unnerved by how they could throw out insults so easy. The rest of the time waiting, a long time by any standards, was spent in uncomfortable silence as they waited to order. Finally, everyone in front was gone.

"Hi! Welcome to Starbucks! What can I get for you two?" The duo being spoken to were amazed at how happy the person taking their order was considering the people she had to deal with.

"Yes, I v'ould like a coffee wi'z cream," the German said, earning an incredulous look.

"Um, what kind of coffee?"

"Z'ere is more than one?" He heard someone groan exasperatedly behind him.

"Of course. If you want one with a lot cream, I suggest a latte, flat white, or cappuccino. Otherwise you can get an americano, espresso, mocha, or macchiato," Germany was downright confused, what was the difference?

"Uh, z'e first one?"

"Sure, and what kind?" Good lord, more choices!

"May I ask what kind'z z'ere are?" A round of groans echoed form behind him. Germany spared a glance back and shook his head. "Never mind, just plain."

"Okay, almost finished. What size and iced or hot?"

When would this end.

It was a nightmare, but he managed to order a 'venti', something like a large he believed. Massaging his temples as he stood there, he asked for it hot and stepped to the side.

"Will that be all?" Someone in the back shouted "Get out of the line shithead!", when Spain stepped forward.

" _Si,_ _señorita_. I'll take a grande iced caramel macchiato, light on the ice _por favor_ ," after paying and going to an incredulous German, he pulled him out of the way to go grab their drinks.

The girl behind them muttered a "Thank god they're gone".

"How did you do z'at?"

" _Qué_?"

"Order wi'z all z'ose odd words," Spain stifled a chuckle.

"Practice, _señor_ , practice." He hurried him along, picking up the drinks as the worker called out their order. He took the confused German, who looked out of place more than ever, out of the busy building to find an outside table. "Germany, do not fret, you'll be able to order your own drink someday," oblivious to how embarrassing that sounded, like he was some sort of small child, Germany tried to talk but decided against making a bigger fool of himself. Instead he took a sip of the hot drink.

 _Hmm, decent._

Spain joined him in the motion, taking a long taste of his own.

"Ah~." he stood up, foam covering his top lip. "Anyway, _vámanos_! Let us see the sights!" Before Germany could settle, the blonde was dragged out and away. Walking further, he noticed the group of girls that were in front of them back at the coffee shop, Carey and whomever. Ignoring them, the countries hurried down the road.

The first thing England noticed was how bloody cramped the place was. The next thing was how dreadfully smelly it was. When Michael had led them in, for that was the utterly dreadful young man's name who was making them buy his lunch, these observations immediately crossed his mind. France had gained an expression to hard to explain. He looked... Well he looked pleased with the place, or at least the scent in the air. The decor was a whole other story.

"Who would want to eat in a restaurant like z'ees?" He scrunched his nose up at the sight. The place was dim, and the front door lead up a thin ramp up to the main floor. Tables were placed ridiculously close, people hitting each others chairs every time they backed out. Although the place reeked, and it was too stuffy to describe, it was packed to the brim. Five people even stood at line to order, everyone else spilling out into seats around the room.

England followed close to Michael, not wanting to be knocked over by some loud American. Passing by the wall in the center of the room, which was shaped like a thin and long B, the line had shortened to three. Hearing rapid Chinese, France turned to a woman passing by with a plate of food as the trio looked around. Michael was just annoyed at how alien they seemed.

"It seems pretty good," Canada commented. Michael whipped around in horror.

"Pretty good?! This place is one of the best in town! Family-owned and real food. Pretty good he says.." speaking indignantly under his breath with what seemed to be a scowl, he faced the ever-shortening line.

"How would we know! That twit never goes anywhere but McDonald's, Americans and their-" someone tapped him. "Who the hell," he looked around, but couldn't find who had tapped him.

"I'm right here!"

"Who?"

"Canada! You know, Matthew!" Running a hand over his face in irritation Canada whispered.

" _Mon dieu_ , how can you always forget Mathieu, _Angleterre_?"

"I don't bloody know frog!" The two started bickering back and forth, rising above the volume of the restaurant. Without them noticing, they had reached the front of the line.

Michael ignored them.

"Oh, so Mikey came back? What are you doing back? Seconds aru," the older man had graying hair and a raspy, light voice. As he chuckled, he eyes crinkled, defining the many lines on his face, and his voice resonated throughout the place. Against their expectations, Michael sheepishly rubbed his neck.

"There goes Mr. Chang and his cackling."

"What you talking about boy," the man, Mr. Chang, smacked his head. "Now, want you want?"

"Today's special, same as earlier. My was spilled by this dipshit," he jabbed a thumb back at Canada. The Asian's eyes widened.

"Is Alfred back for seconds too?"

"Eh?" Matthew and everyone else was bewildered, they had never been here with Alfred before. Didn't even know it existed, let alone that he ate here. "Sorry, but my name is Matthew."

"Why you so quiet Alfred?" The man looked as genuinely confused as the trio felt and probably looked.

"Wait, who the heck is Alfred?" Michael piped up, to himself.

"A regular. Now what are you doing back, didn't you have some important meeting aru?" So America had gone back to the meeting? Or at least tried, git most likely got distracted by something.

"I'm very sorry, but my name is actually Matthew."

"Really, speak up! You were shouting just a little while ago-"

"I said my name is Matthew!" Canada's voice rose to normal volume, startling both European countries.

"Oh. What the hell? What even are you?" Mr. Chang finished putting in the order but was leaning over the counter to get a good look at Canada.

"Ame-Al is my brother. We were actually looking for him before we ran into Michael here," he gestured to him, and shook his head. The older man put a finger to his chin and looked awfully focused.

"Ah! So you the ass who always says insults," shocked, Canada put a hand over his heart.

"I would never!" Hearing that, the man tapped his finger against his chin.

"If not you then... Oh, I see! It is Mr. Caterpillars over there!" England was not very happy at that comment.

"Oh, hon, hon, so _Angleterre_ is an-"

"Don't finish that bloody frog!" After giving a kick to the Frenchman, England turned back to Mr. Chang. "Now what lies were you spouting?" In mock hurt, the man took a step back.

"Lies? I say no lies. And that annoying voice is definitely the one who always yells on his cellphone, aru," England grimaced, he didn't yell that much...

...right?

"Do you know where he is?" Canada said trying to get back on track. Out of curiosity, he also added, "And does Al ever say anything about us?" The man looked perplexed but quickly found who was speaking. He couldn't help but add,

"You very different from your brother, he always shouts loud enough for whole room to hear. I don't know where he is too, he ate and then left for meeting," glancing at a certain table he continued. "No, he never talks about you guys. I hear little things about brother or names like yours, but he never talks about you plainly," he took a moment, hesitating before adding something else. "He get phone calls during lunch though, and sometimes I can hear what you say. Alfred has come here for a while, so I know who the people around him are." He narrowed his already thin eyes grimly at them, "and what they are like to him." A woman placed a bag, for takeout England supposed, and gave it to Michael. The trio looked guiltily away from him. What he said gave them a sinking feeling.

"Woah, okay. Thanks for the food Mr. Chang, hope business stays good." Matthew payed, avoiding the Asian's eyes and looking down. England guessed he really wished he could disappear, because unlike usual, he was one of the main focuses of attention. "Let's go," he nudged them away from the counter, waving as he went. Before they got out of hearing range Mr. Chang spoke up with a gentle gaze.

"I've never heard anyone call him Al, you must be close brothers," although Matthew grimaced a bit, he gave a slight proud smile.

"Of course, eh," the sinking feeling and depressing thoughts worsened in England. He was nice to America, wasn't he? Knew a lot about the lad, didn't he?Although clearly he never knew that fact about Canada's nickname, or that he ate anywhere like this. Michael cringed at the gloomy mood and depressed countries and led them into some fresh air.

"You know, my brothers playing a few blocks from here." Michael said, a flash of pride going across his features.

Canada was the first to speak up, "Playing what?" Not hearing him, the boy kept taking.

"He plays the guitar every once in a while, just to earn a couple more bucks. Heard he found this really good singer too, we could go check it out?" He seemed a little nervous, but looked to them expectantly. England nodded. Yes, music could take his mind off of the lad.

"Lead the way then."

* * *

 _Mi amigo_ (Spanish)- My friend

 _Si, señorita_ (Spanish)- Yes, miss

 _Por favor_ (spanish)- Please

 _Que_ (Spanish)- What

 _Vámanos_ (Spanish)- Let's go

 _Mon dieu_ (French) _-_ My god

 _Angleterre_ French)- England


	7. Chapter 7

Words fail

Where music speaks

~Unknown

* * *

"And then of course I will drag my towel down the aisle like in a traditional Belarusian wedding. Big sister and everyone will be there to congratulate us too," Russia couldn't be numb now with horror so he let himself be dragged along. Belarus had spent the last 15 minutes just explaining a part of her wedding with said big brother. Steve listened attentively and commented appropriately, making Russia hate him all the more.

"So the rag is used, why?"

"Of course that is to clear the path for the unmarried and us. I already took in exceptions for it to happen, but I'd like to be traditional and we must have a towel. It is no rag too," unaware of where they were going, Belarus and Steve exchanged pleasantries. Russia was starting to get annoyed, even angry, but his sister was scary, so he stayed silent.

"Where the hell are we going, aru?" China's finally asked it, head looked back and forth. They just realized they hadn't been paying attention to trying to find America for quite some time. Steve looked apologetic and paused.

"Sorry, did y'all have somewhere ta' be?"

"Nowhere in particular," Belarus replied. Before China could say more Steve butted in.

"I heard some people talking wh'al in the park. Seems there's some good dudes playin' music at the corner a couple blocks ahead. Thought that'd be a cool spot," after explaining why, he was no happier.

"Why would you think we want to go hear some street brat, aru?" China pouted, trying to talk sense into the boy.

"I agree. Who knows if America's music is good?" Russia said sweetly. Sickeningly sweet. He had never really listened to American music, unless someplace was playing it or America was listening to it. He had never even heard the country sing though, never at karaoke... not that they really went or anything. Belarus looked at Russia weirdly.

"You've never heard America's music?"

"I do not think anyone one really has Natalya," Ukraine commented lightly. Belarus looked at them all in amusement.

"I can not say if you are lucky or truly pitiful. Of course not you Big Brother," she smiled and looked up to him, making him light-headed and faint out of fear. Steve, used to, and having a blast with, their antics, clapped his hands together.

"Very true lil' miss! Let's hurry along before we miss out though." They completely missed China in the back, sulking. So, hurrying between people on the sidewalk, they sped across the pavement to their location. Belarus's wedding plans were still explained, in even greater detailed, as the neared their destination. And China still looked like a kid throwing a tantrum, but such was life.

Russia noted how very different everyone was while looking into the crowd and taking his mind off the demon beside him. There was everyone sort of person; Spanish, French, English, he even spotted some Russian. Not that he could tell all that much, but they all had a certain look to them and Russia had lived long enough to be able to tell the difference between a French and English man. It was one of the many things he did to pass the time, observing people that is. He did not have many to share the past time with, so he made it a game over the years.

America was the perfect place to play, the melting pot of cultures. Russia frowned a bit, America also seemed to be a weak spot for all the countries. He had a little bit of everyone, and everyone really didn't like that. Their people had chosen America over them. Really, who would like that?

He spotted a German, another Englishman, and a Japanese-wait, he looked awfully familiar. Squinting, as if it would help him see farther, he noticed the familiar mop of black hair and camera strung around a small neck. What surprised him the most was who he seemed to walk with. She was Polish, no doubt, and had long red hair that settled just below the shoulders of her purple shirt. The two seemed to talk excitedly if their expressions and hand motions were anything to go by. How interesting. Smiling, he leaned back a little bit to talk to China.

"Looks like Japan has perhaps found himself a lady, da?" China was baffled with the sentence, and stopped pouting for the moment. He turned all around to try to see where Russia was looking. "Over there by the cafe is Japan and a very pretty lady," China strained to see, finally tensing when his eyes found the couple.

"What?! Who try to date my little brother, aru!" Stomping over, China went over the crosswalk, a dangerous act because the sign said to not walk, to get to Japan. Russia tapped Belarus, very, very reluctantly, and pointed to China.

"It seems some fun is happening over there. We shall go watch _sestra_?" Eyes lighting up, she quickly nodded her head.

"Of course big brother!" She started to follow China with Steve close behind. Ukraine shrugged, it was quite amusing, and she hadn't seen her siblings this happy in a long time.

"What is this Kiku!" Japan's eyes widened as he saw his former big brother come to them. He wasn't very happy that he had interrupted Matylda right when she was examining the climax of the storyline, saying her critiques. "Who is this girl, aru!" China seemed out of breath and quite red with anger. Now, Japan was a little miffed, and bewildered, by the older man's behavior. The red-head looked slightly offended at his declaration and glanced at Japan.

"Who is this guy?" She stuck out her tongue at Japan, who turned a bit red and looked to China.

"This is my acquaintance, Yao Wang," he nodded in he direction he was. "He can be quite energetic even though he is o'rder."

"Who are you calling old!"

"Yao, this is Maty'rda," not satisfied with the answer, China spoke again.

"And what are you two doing together?" Looking at Matylda, disapprovingly, he spat. She cut in before either Asian could say a word.

"My friend texted me about this street performer, and since Kiku took the last copy at the gaming store, he had to accompany me," she flashed a confident grin at Kiku. Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus all watched the little scene play out before them in wonder, occasionally breaking into fits of laughter. Steve leaned to Ukraine and whispered,

"So did the raven-haired dude get caught cheatin'?" She bursted out laughing and even starting wiping tears away.

"I am no girl, aru!" Steve looked disappointed.

"No worries partner, I don't mind if you like-"

"We are brothers!" Everyone except China started held their stomach as they laughed. He wasn't so amused. Steve recovered quickly and stepped toward Japan with an open hand.

"I've been hanging around your fun folks all afternoon. My name's Steve Mr. Kiku," he gestured to Matylda. "Lil' lady." Kiku immediately felt a connection with Steve. Maybe it was how much he seemed like America? "Seems like we're all goin' to the same place, just around the block right?"

Both Matylda and Japan nodded. "As you know, my name is Kiku. Nice to me you," he shook his hand and stood up. "Since we are a'r going to the same p'race, how about we go together?" Belarus shrugged.

"That would be nice." While walking together, Ukraine looked towards Japan.

"So is that your lady Mr. Japan?" Japan instantaneously turned bright red.

"You tired yet Alfred?" Jared turned to his new partner. The crowd was still around surprisingly, even when the break was announced.

"Nah dude, I'm all fired up!" The blonde made a fist and punched the air, his cowlick swaying. Some girls swooned when he moved and the sun caught on his hair and glasses, making him feel like a god. After rolling his eyes, he took a swig of his water and turned to the task of tuning his guitar. Alfred was as energetic as a 6 year old about toys. After getting his guitar settled, Jared pulled out his phone, letting out a groan at the number of messages he had. A grand 89. At that moment, he wished group chats could be banned. "What is it bro?" Alfred turned towards him, a curious glimmer in his bright blue eyes.

"Nothing much. Group chats, ya' know?" Alfred nodded in fake seriousness. Not taking his eyes off the screen, the musician scrolled through his texts. "Looks like my brother's coming. And something happened with his girlfriend, but I don't really know." Even though Alfred's interest was peaked, he slumped a little at the word brother.

 _Weird_

"You have a brother?" Alfred had a faraway glance and didn't notice the question. Suddenly returning to the present, he looked to Jared.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah. A few." Not wanting to push Alfred any more, because he seemed to dim at the topic and maybe a bit sensitive with the subject, he gave a quick strum. Guitar was all set.

"You ready to go Alfred," hoping to take his mind off the previous topic he suggested.

"'Course! Let's rock."


	8. Chapter 8

Here it is, the chapter you've all been waiting for. The pieces fall into place, everyone meets up, and life is good. The song mentioned in this chapter is **Rivers and Roads** be The Head and the Heart. I suggest listening to the song while reading when you get to that part... I don't own the song, nor do I own Starbucks or Hetalia. I did take the lyrics out (there were lyrics) so that's fixed. Whatever and enjoy~

* * *

Music is a piece of art

That goes in the ears

Straight to the heart

~Unknown

* * *

A quacking sound filled the space, Michael reached into his pocket for his vibrating phone. Sliding the button, he held it to his ear. France looked to England mouthing the word "duck" questionably. Both shook their heads, Americans were weird.

"Yes? Oh! Hi Carey... What?! No way! Yup, yup... Are they heading over here?... Okay, calm down and describe them... Brunettes, Italian, Weird cowlicks. I'll keep my eye out for anyone-Holy shit! Gotta go Care'," fumbling to put the device in his pocket, he kept his eyes locked on two thin figures slipping in and out of the crowd. His green eyes flashed with a dangerous light and France couldn't help but get a bad feeling. Following his gaze, they all found out who the runners were.

"Good lord...," suddenly, all of them felt tired just looking at the mess about to unfold. Not noticing their exasperation, Michael looked like it was Christmas. Completely excited and bouncing on his toes, he turned quickly and gave some brief words to the foreigners.

"Really sorry guys, something's come up. Just go straight and then take a left, 'kay?" No one protested, and didn't have a chance too as he sprinted in the direction the two Italians were running. Nope, they did not know those two. Hoping quite desperately that they weren't Northern and Southern Italy, though they knew better, and followed Michael's directions down the sidewalk.

Why are pretty _bellas_ always the scary ones? Italy and Romano swerved in and out of foot traffic, taking rights and lefts on every other road. They were being chased by a really rough looking guy, and he just kept yelling. Though it wasn't only him, Romano was screaming a variety of colorful words in Italian and English at his back.

He really didn't mean to grab the earring, really he was trying to give it back. At the time, he didn't think anything like this would happen, he just wanted to go eat some cake with some pretty women. And his brother. The cake was good, the girls okay, so why did it end this way?

"Stupid _fratello_!" Italy stuck out his bottom lip as he ran and shouted to his brother. It really was his brother's fault.

At least he got to spend a day with him though... He tripped after losing focus.

"Come on _idiota_ ," Romano pulled him up and pushed him in front. Italy smiled thankfully, though Romano wasn't looking or paying attention. Italy was a bit disappointed they couldn't keep looking around, and he still hadn't found the perfect pasta in America, but at least he was with Romano.

"Ve~, Lovi, where are we going?" He breathed out, they had just passed their fifth block from where they had eaten with the two women.

"How should I fucking know!" Loving growled back. Maybe this would have been more fun if his brother wasn't so angry and if someone wasn't chasing them.

Did America do this with his brother?

Italy guessed America, being how loud and nosy he was, probably got in trouble too. Maybe he had run with his own _fratello_ -Can, Canie, Canada!-just like they were. Italy didn't think too much, he needed to worry about what was happening now.

"Let's go Lovi!" He dashed across another block.

Prussia wasn't feeling too good at having to go with this monster woman. As if reading his mind, a frying pan hit him upside the head and knocked him forward.

"V'hy v'ould you hit z'e awesome me!" Prussia glared and rubbed the newly forming bump. Hungary seemed incredibly pleased at the bump.

"Any'vay, v'ere are v'e going?" They had been waiting for a while in the meeting room when they had realized the search groups probably wouldn't find America. Austria had been on his laptop before promptly shutting it, packing his things, and getting ready to leave. Out of curiosity, Hungary and Prussia had joined him, for the Germanic country didn't use his laptop very often. Though Prussia really just wanted to annoy him.

"V'e a' going to see these musicians. It seems they are playing just a little ways from the building," Hungary went along at Austria's side, Prussia trailing behind them and looking skeptical.

"V'at is so good about a couple of amateurs who can't even get a gig? If z'e awesome me was playing my flute, I could-"

"V'ell you idiot, the guitarist is quite well known it seems. He's only a musician for fun, so he doesn't do gigs. And z'e person signing with him is supposed to be spectacular," Austria ignored him, speaking directly to Hungary. They were all dressed in street clothes, khakis and a dress shirt, a t-shirt and jeans, and lastly a light blouse and shorter khakis. Hungary's ponytail bounced behind her, and Austria's back was completely open, making Prussia really antsy to mess with the pair.

Just how would he annoy them today? And not get injured by Hungary... He flattened his t-shirt and sped up to reach them.

"How do you even know about z'is Roderich?" Hungary said, while giving Austria a glance. She turned afterwords, taking in New York. It had been a while since she had been here.

"Let's just say, I do know music," giving a ridiculously vague answer, he sped off with a smirk. An awed Hungarian and scheming Prussian followed behind.

Spain happily turned down the street, the sound of a guitar luring him into the large mash of people ahead. Germany grimaced at the amount of women and men and children, but went with him, entranced by the music as well. It was acoustic, the sound, and it seemed to flutter throughout the crowd and all around them. A string was plucked once, than together, acting in a pleasant harmony. Then it stopped. He was confused but still moved closer to the front. As he was pushing through, he lost sight of Germany, only managing to catch a familiar mop of silver hair before it was gone. His phone buzzed, and he couldn't help but feel his lips tug up at the sight of a text.

 _Will be borrowing him_

As delighted as he was, he was still annoyed at the sudden stop of chords up front. Also the newly arguing voices joining the mob.

"I don't know the bloody hell where he-" it seemed another couple groups of nations were here.

" _Scusami_ Antonio!" A familiar copper haired Italian bolted past, knocking over no few amount of people. He caught his to-Romano not far behind. They quickly formed into the scenery, but he saw their curls slip though the spaces of people. He felt warm seeing them here as well. Conversation started up in place of music, and listening, he heard more and more voices he knew.

"I don't care aru! You don't know him like I do-"

"Of course you can come to big brother and my wedding-"

"No problem little miss-" It seemed fate had brought them all here. Every group that had been looking for the missing country had ended up here, but why? He suddenly thought of the last voice he had heard. Who's was it again? Before the thought could form, a new note started. The guitar was darker and mellow, starting a slower beat. Then the voice accompanied it. Strong, low almost a hum. It washed over the crowd, silencing it instantly.

Soothing and pleasant, people actually started closing their eyes. Spain couldn't help but join the light mood. The first lines had ended.

The mood seemed tender, and the singing gained an almost longing air. A sad rhythm.

On the last line of this new set, a second voice joined in, a rougher, pitchier sort. Although the original singers voice was steady, it wobbled with emotion in a different sort of way, pulling at the crowd. Some people leaned forward or craned their necks for more. Spain just gently swayed and listened as it erupted into a chorus of Ahs with the guitar. They seemed sorrowful and seemed to hold a hidden message for someone. For someones.

 _Bang_

The voice gained, rising in volume, in power, in emotion. It tipped off at the end, and the guitar player gave a hit on the last word. The music held more momentum now, but the guitar in between was longer. Spain started to hum.

He snickered at a line, it so true it was funny. France, Prussia, Romano, all lived very far away.

The second was more piercing, as if stating a fact. Without knowing, he was moving forward. The next long set of Ahs led him closer.

The words seemed to seep into people, the emotion beneath each one carrying to something inside them.

He hadn't noticed it had softened, but the voice rose again with the beat, lighting a fire in people. The guitar after the phrase strummed harder and faster.

It repeated, but the voice changed. Stronger, deeper, what was it saying? Spain felt shaken from it, but it still didn't stop. The chorus was sung over and over, feeling like a blissful eternity. Each one seemed different. The first made him jump, it was quiet, and made him feel as if electrify bounced on his arms and made him move. The second was raspier, making him tingle. The third led him away, it was delicate. By the fourth he was singing along, the crowd joining him.

The last though, that one gave him shivers. The background chords ended, leaving the voice alone. It seemed desperate, reaching. It gave him goosebumps. As the voice fell, ending, the last line changed, higher, and laid into them. After the singer settled, cheers rose like wildfire, clapping and whooping rising to match the cars all around. Spain had made it to the front without really meaning. What was before him made him stand in shock, still as stone and gaping. There, low and behold, was the man they had been searching for for hours.

America.

On a balcony not far off, a blonde ranted on to another man. Suddenly the second man perked up, his brown hair settling out of his face as he turned towards the street below.

"Ah, so Mr. America's singing has ended," Lithuania let his friend Poland's voice come back. He had let it turn to a buzz to listen.

 _Sorry Feliks_

He had let himself drown in the music, like he had done so many times before, and like so many other people.

And lost himself.

* * *

 _Bellas_ (Italian)- Girls

 _Fratello_ (Italian)- Brother

 _Idiota_ (Italian)- Idiot

 _Scusami_ (Italian)- Excuse me


	9. Chapter 9

Music speaks what cannot be expressed

Soothes the mind and gives it rest

Heals the heart and makes it whole

Flows from heaven to the soul

~Angela Monet

* * *

America grinned sheepishly at the enthusiasm of the crowd. The last song had been a request, a random one at that, yet had really brought him away into the music. He was actually a little embarrassed for getting so lost in it, but turning to Jared, he found it had had the same effect on him. Scanning the people's faces, and brightening, he found more than a few recognizable and dimmed. He stiffened.

 _Ah shit_

What time was it? Looking over at Jared's watch, he found he was very, _very_ late.

6 hours late to be exact.

He ran a hand through he hair and sighed.

"Uh, Jared, you mind if we take a brake?" Jared shook his head a couple times and blinked rapidly.

"Woah. I can't even explain what happened huh?" His head was facing his lap, but switched to America. "Oh! Yeah, no problem man. I mean, we can even end here if you like," he found the leather guitar case laying between them and the circle of people ahead. It was overflowing with green bills and change, making him feel almost guilty at the profit.

"I'm good dude, really, just need to talk to a couple people," in return, America swiped across on his phone, finding the first contact and calling. Loud dubstep echoed, and America almost jumped at how close it sounded. Peering through the dense group, he found a well known trio. Smiling shakily, he put the phone down and started towards them. The crowd easily parted, whether in awe of him or because he was America was hard to tell. Walking up to the trio, he noticed how shocked all of them looked; England, France, and Canada that is. He gave himself a mental pep talk and spoke. "Guys... you okay?" He waved his hand in front of their faces. Canada was first to react, pushing the hand away and growling.

"I should have known you would be here. Now I feel stupid," America, dumbstruck, just stood there.

"What do you mean-"

"You know Al, it's been a while since I've heard you sing," Canada smiled sadly and looked to his brother slyly.

"Too long, right?" America was relieved and slung an arm around his brothers shoulders, tiptoeing a bit because he was taller.

" _Mon dieu_ Alfred! We, I! I had no clue you could sing," the American reddened a bit at the compliment, but overall looked proud. "The way you sing is _magnifique_! I bet you are quite popular with the ladies, _oui_?" At this he laughed, noticing even when France was in awe, he was still France. England was a different story however. He seemed to be sputtering, bringing his hands to his head, and then off. The British man's large eyebrows were furrowed, and he seemed... disappointed. Americas mood grew a little sour, but he reached a hand out to his former caretaker and gently patted his shoulder.

"Yo, Artie, you okay there dude?" England snapped out of it, briskly shaking his head and taking a step back. America was now worried, he took a step to match the distance lost and looked at England. "You cool?" Smacking his hand away, England crossed his arms and looked up at him from the corner of his eye.

"Of course you bloody arse! Do you have any idea how much time was wasted because of your actions?" America stumbled a bit back, and with his words. The sudden feeling of accomplishment and pride breaking down like a dam at seeing his attitude. All the negative feelings that had been held in check came flooding out from behind his happy appearance.

"Well, whatever Arthur. I'd rather be here than spend my time fucking dying of boredom surrounded by people who don't even _want_ me there." Giving a heated look to the Brit, one cold and frustrated and upset, he prepared to stalk off when he was tackled to the ground. France and Canada exchanged a glance before the words escaped their thoughts, and were lost to their minds.

"Alfred! Alfred! Help me~" Italy had managed to take down America, dispelling his ill-feelings with England and startling him. The brunette started shaking and hiding behind him, yelling at his brother to do the same. Shortly, Romano appeared with a black eye and delighted Spain. Michael, who England, France, and Canada all recognized immediately, soon joined the fray. He appeared steaming, and a large brown stain covered his yellow shirt, a terrible combination. Grabbing Romano, who was closer than Italy, by the shirt, he looked feral and absolutely like he would kill the country.

"You fuckers! I swear, I'm gonna'-"

" _Amigo_ , I suggest you take your hands off my _tomate_ and back away before you ruin my mood." Spain gripped the boy's wrist, slowly taking it off and letting it fall along with his venom-laced words. America, in understanding, slapped both of them hard on the back and gave a booming laugh.

"Dudes, chill! What's with you and the Italians, bro?" Michael gave an aggressive look to America before letting his anger rest, feeling that the blonde was somehow relaxing.

"Those two stole my babe's earrings. The ones _I_ got for her!" He started to rant on, saying how hard it was to convince his dad for the money for them and how hot she was and-

"Mikey, step down, you're troubling Alfred here." Jared came to join them, sending a hard look to Michael and smoothing his slick auburn hair.

"You know him?" America quizzically stated, making everyone's head hurt and reel from trying to connect the dots.

"Yeah, he's my baby brother. Hot-headed and-Ouch!" Michael gave him a knock to the head, making the brother whine in displeasure. Alfred smiled in spite of himself, completely letting his past conversation with England melt away for good. For now. He introduced himself to Michael, occasionally looking to Italy or Canada or Jared, making the anxious mood settle.

England's emotions were just as muddled as they had been when he first found out it was America who was singing. He seemed to realize his former colony had more secrets than he had ever let on.

Japan slid smoothly into the group without anyone noticing. Giving a tap to America's shoulder before speaking as to not interrupt his chat with the two Louis brothers.

"A'rfred-san, I thought your performance was rea'ry amazing," turning to face the smaller man, he gave a dazzling grin.

"Thanks Kiku bro! The hero's good at everything right?" Setting aside his past humble attitude, he gave more flamboyant answers, making everyone want to hit, and hug him, at the same time. Spain and Italy gave praise next, speaking non-stop of how spectacular his voice was and how scary his women were.

"The BTT can now finally be completed, for the awesome me is here!" With his silver hair and wild demeanor, Prussia joined France and Spain, speaking in hushed voices while looking into the sea of people. Germany, Hungary, and Austria appeared from where he was looking, polite conversation going between. Catching sight of America, Austria hurriedly came over and took his hands.

"I do not understand how such a country can have such bad music and so good a voice," giving a pleased nod, he swept away with Hungary abandoning the sight after giving his thoughts. The American was a little caught off guard and stood for a moment.

"Well that was weird," he went back to their entourage, where Canada had tried to speak up many times and only got noticed once when Romano had bumped into him and started cussing. Belarus, leading her siblings and China with Matylda with her own friend, unwillingly offered a compliment to America before talking about her honeymoon to her sister. Suddenly, Steve busted in, shaking his head and running to Jared.

"Jay, your bro's wackjob lady is tryin' to make a move on me! Ya' gotta' gimme' a hand here, partner," desperately clutching Jared's arm, he pleaded for help as a bubbly blonde approached.

"Stevie, just where are you going darling?" She said threateningly, two friends close behind. She flipped her hair and raised her pursed, looking through it's contents before settling on a tube on lip gloss. She smeared it on before popping her lips and giving Steve a predatory look.

"Ah!" he gave a jump and hid behind Russia and America, the strongest looking people in the group. "Hid me Iv'." Though Russia gave a smile that looked like he was just about to pull out his pipe, America gave a glance to him in question before turning to the southern boy. Whispering so that Michael and Ally, that was the blonde's name, could continue their intense discussion in peace, he gave hand to him.

"Name's Alfred."

"Steve." The two immediately clicked, seeming like life-long friends while they whispered fervently and giggled about the situation. At this time Michael's status became single, after coming to the conclusion that Ally was indeed not right. She had given a nice punch to not him, not Italy, who had managed to avoid it with the aid of Germany.

England stood to the side, aloof and brooding. He finally felt his muscles relax, feeling for the first time that he had unconsciously made himself guarded after nothing he wasn't the one who knew America the best. Just as the first guitar chords were played, he realized he had missed the bonding time experienced with the group, and the time to tell America what he really thought.


	10. Chapter 10

This is the final chapter everybody. Anyway this was a ton of fun writing but I am wrapping it up to start some new stories. This chapter is just something a little short and sweet since I may make a sequel or AU sequel… whatever the case, I will be writing some story to go along with this. Thanks for reading the whole thing and enjoy if you're still here.

* * *

Sometimes it's not the song that makes you emotional…

it's the people and things that come to mind when you hear it…

~Unknown

* * *

England left feeling quite hollow and very much shallow.

His head now ached from the concert-like venue and his whole existence he equated to something like a muddy, too bitter cup of english breakfast. Placing one foot in front of the other, watching them step in beat with the others on the stained pavement, he peeked up under his hair. Through his willful hair, and arguably his ginormous eyebrows, he spectated his formal colony surrounded by countries.

Spain stood quite rambunctious to his left, and England could vaguely make out mentions and motions to imply he was asking about guitars. He, the gentlemen he was, preferred violins. To that matter, Austria perked up, going through something like a questionnaire in a way that made him seem uninterested and snobby and thrilled all at the same time. The group rotated around him, trading places and circling like America was a great sun.

England wished he could admit that he wanted to orbit as well.

Earlier, their new, more mortal friends had hung back. Germany had argued though it was quite the adventure there was no excuse not to be productive for at least another hour. You see, the meeting did not end for another three somehow.

Falling behind, Canada hung back silently and coming to England's side. He motioned to speak but had to give a great deal of shouting before there was anything more than a furrowed brow and a blank frown. The expression was a common one for the man, but the lack of hearing was not.

"So, I guess America's even more of an enigma than we thought, eh," it was a whisper that dissolved like smoke into the city streets. His companion had no problem hearing it anymore, adding on that his his ears had perked up at the mention of just the name America.

"I believe so my lad. I think there is a great deal of America we have never bear witness to."

And then silence descended, as softly as Canada's voice. England snapped his coat up closer just as a hand came to rest upon the shoulder.

"Oi, Canada, I do believe that is quite the irritating thing to do after-"

"Being called Canadia? Well, I think that's a first," America stood cockily and glowing, basking in the embers of the setting sun as it fell behind him. Nervously, England let a breath fall and his hands go back to his sides. He noted the American's hands were calloused and the air was growing chillier.

"Don't mistake me, Cana-who is by far the more polite and intelligent between the two of you. Now what do you want, we are almost at the building by now. Or do you not know where it is considering you never made it back!" he said sharply and coarsely. His fingers twitched, and as America's smile faltered for just barely a moment, he made the mistake of shoving them in his pockets and veering to the left. This side was filled with oncoming passengers and even managed to knock into a box-like woman before tumbling forward.

"Hey, Artie, you okay dude?" America asked concerned at his back. Meanwhile, his face burned with embarrassment.

"I am fine, thank you very much," there was another lapse of silence while the two drew into a pensive mood. One where the people to their sides were non-existent and the stench of sewer and gasoline wasn't so prevalent.

"I just was trying to help, ya know," and England did. But that didn't make him any less mad at the American for a reason he didn't know and ashamed with himself. Romano oddly enough initiated in a conversation with America, more importantly gaining freedom from chatting with a certain Spaniard and inquiring about violins and the such. England was drifting farther, carried up and away by the waves of people. He barely heard America reply ruefully, "The fiddle is such a cool instrument dude! Can't imagine what would happen if I hadn't ever listened to it…" The Italian listened somewhat distractedly, missing words and phrases and altogether how much American dreaded and enjoyed the violin.

England bristled further into his coat. His jaw relaxed along with his pace, and suddenly, all at once the tension all over and terrible feelings he had stored were released. Slightly turning back and giving a tentative grin, he chuckled to himself. America might have been one of the world's greatest mysteries, but England prided himself in knowing he knew more about the former colony than anyone else.

And no matter what changed and how many things the American himself withheld, that fact would not falter.


End file.
